


Give and Take

by isuilde



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: I'm not even sure anymore, Lost Small World trivias everywhere, M/M, also this is more of misaki-centric, idk anymore i'm not sure my point gets across?, made up stuff about Misaki's family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because you’ll get something back, Yata. It always works that way.”</p><p>Misaki learns something from his mother, Totsuka refutes those things, and Saruhiko, in the end, proves Totsuka true, even if it takes a ridiculously long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR, SARUMISA SHIPPERS. I don’t know how many of you still read my SaruMisa garbage, but I hope you’d at least enjoy this. :3 This is written for all of you, but most importantly, this is for Hei-chan and Pepper and Kanami-chan and my dearest soul mate and sista and mizuouji (early birthday present, too? =))) who never fail to brighten my day every time I see them in my dash. I love you guys.

“The thing is,” his mother says, arms full of a crying Moe, as the debt collector left their house. “You can’t expect someone to give you anything. Anything at all! They’d just go, up and away with it, taking everything you’ve given them, ungrateful son of a bitch—“ 

Moe wails. He wants to take his sister away from those arms, to calm Moe down, but his mother is clutching Moe like a lifeline, like she’s the only thing left to keep her sane, and his hands still. 

It’s amazing how much can change in the span of three years. His stepfather continues to be a fucking loser who keeps losing his jobs and losing his gambles and borrows money from dangerous people like the idiot that he is. His mother progressively goes the path downhill—she’s stopped cooking now, stopped paying attention to his studies, stopped taking Moe for a walk every afternoon. She drinks instead, cans and bottles of beer and scotch and sometimes vodka when it gets really cold and the heater in their house doesn’t work well. Moe cries a lot and sulks a lot because she’s a kid, and Misaki swears to himself that Moe would always, always laugh when she’s with him, because she never seems to when she’s with their parents. 

And then one day, just a week before his middle school graduation, his father disappears completely. 

Thinking back, Misaki might have stayed. For Moe, if nothing else. But it only takes two days for another debt collector to come over and tell them that they have ten days to pack their things and go, and it takes another four days for his mother to hand Moe over to child services without Misaki knowing anything about it. He comes home from Saruhiko’s place to find his mother out cold in the kitchen, fingers clutching an empty bottle of scotch and the administration papers from child services strewn all over the table. 

He has never been so angry in his life. 

It’s the night before his graduation, and Misaki runs off to Saruhiko’s place, climbs up the tree which branch reaches over to Saruhiko’s window and starts pelting pebbles at the other boy’s window until it opens up. 

Saruhiko stares at him incredulously. “It’s eleven,” he deadpans. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Misaki snarls, voice breaking in the last syllable because he remembers Moe, and knows he would probably never be able to hold her tiny hands again. “Let me in.” 

He gets in quietly, so that Saruhiko’s so-called Dad wouldn’t hear him downstairs. When his toe catches on the windowsill, he stumbles, literally, into Saruhiko’s arms. They tumbled onto the floor, and Misaki starts laughing and crying at the same time, because it’s ridiculous and Saru is warm and _Moe, oh god_. 

 “Let’s go,” he says, and hears the hysterical desperation in his voice. “Tomorrow, after our graduation. Let’s go, let’s—there’s HOMRA. We can join them, they’ll give us a place to stay, let’s just—get the fuck out of here, let’s go. We can leave, the two of us, you and I, we’ll make a fucking new world, just us, everyone else could go fuck themselves.” 

Saruhiko’s arms are stiff around him. “What.” 

“Kusanagi-san would help us, we don’t need to worry about money, not yet.” He takes a deep breath; he knows he’s babbling, and he’s probably not making any sense, but he’s got to leave, and Saruhiko has to leave, too, and if it’s the two of them, they would both be okay. Misaki just wants to be okay. “Okay? Tomorrow. I’ll take you away.” 

Saruhiko pushes at him. Their eyes meet, and Misaki fails to breathe for a second, because there’s something intense in Saruhiko’s gaze that he can’t quite place. 

“Okay,” Saruhiko says, and the air leaves Misaki’s lungs in a rush of relief. “Okay. Tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Misaki says, the word catching between sobs, and thinks _Moe, Oniichan is so so sorry_. “Yeah.” 

 **\-----o0o-----**  

Totsuka catches him cooking in the bar’s kitchen; wrists deep in the water as he washes some potatoes, humming a random lullaby he used to sing to Moe as the water in the pot on the stove boils. 

“Heeeeh,” is the first thing Totsuka says, his tone lilting in interest. “I didn’t know you could cook, Yata.” 

“Osu, Totsuka-san!” he grins half-sheepishly. “Nah, I really can’t, I just throw everything edible together and hope they’d taste good. Unless it’s curry or fried rice. I’m really good with fried rice.” 

Totsuka hums and takes a peek at the various ingredients all over the kitchen counter. “And you’re making…?” 

“Oh. Saru wants to eat beef stew, he’s been pestering me to make some,” Misaki shrugs, snags the knife and the chopping board and throw a bunch of carrots on it. He chops them slowly, the knife making a staccato sound. “Stubborn dumbass. I’ll kill him if he doesn’t eat the vegetables after all this trouble. We could’ve just eat out.” 

“Ah, but I’d like to eat Yata’s cooking, myself. I’ve been thinking I should probably get into cooking—” 

And just like that, Misaki is suddenly spending more time with Totsuka in the kitchen, talking over meat and vegetables and spices, arguing over whether pineapples go well with ramen, or whether tom yam goong could use more tomatoes. Then Anna gets a cold, and Misaki makes his first _okayu_ for someone other than Saruhiko and Moe, and Kusanagi jokingly says if he should hire Misaki as a cook. 

Misaki laughs at that, but Saruhiko throws him a sulky glare and mutters something about how Misaki should only cook for him, the selfish bastard. Misaki will cook for whoever he damn well wants. 

“You’ve been giving a lot to everyone since you joined us.” Totsuka tells him afterwards, over the smell of cheese and the sounds of eggs frying. “I don’t think we actually thank you enough for that.” 

Misaki blinks. “..I—I don’t.” He answers, almost dumbly, because what is Totsuka-san talking about, Misaki hasn’t given a single thing to anyone. He doesn’t ever give anyone anything, because he’s learned that he’d get nothing in return, and that’s the most important thing his mother ever taught him. “I don’t—give. People would just take it and leave, and that’s not—good.” 

Totsuka stares at him for a long time. Then he smiles, and wordlessly pries the ladle off his stiff fingers. 

“Silly Yata. It’s the opposite, you know.” The ladle taps Misaki’s shoulder once gently, and Misaki thinks he’s being reproached, maybe. “When you give, you’re trying to tell them your feelings, in words that don’t exist. When you give, you’re giving away a part of your heart, no matter who it is for. If you don’t get anything back yet, it’s because you haven’t given enough, and that means your feelings haven’t reached them.” The older man turns and sends a grin his way. “Because you’ll get something back, Yata. It always works that way.” 

Misaki barks a laugh. It sounds bitter. “Not everyone has a heart as big as you do, Totsuka-san.” He pauses, and adds quickly. “Or King.” 

Totsuka snorts. “Yata is a caretaker. You don’t look like it, but you take a good care of people. Caretakers have the biggest hearts.” Totsuka pause thoughtfully. “Say, have you got any siblings?” 

“I—“ he stutters over the answer, throat tightening unexpectedly, and oh, it’s been so long since he thinks about Moe. “I—did. I guess.” 

Totsuka’s movements halt completely. He turns, very slowly, and looks at Misaki the way he sometimes looks at Anna; fond and careful and—important. 

“That’s good.” He smiles. “Kusanagi-san have his hands full all the time, it’s best if we can take care of ourselves and the others. It’s good you’re here, Yata.” 

Misaki swallows, turns to the chopped onions because his eyes are getting wet and he needs excuses to rub at them. “Uh. Th-thanks, Totsuka-san. You’re—I think you’re good at taking care of everyone, too.” 

Totsuka laughs, clear as a summer bell. “No, I mostly just prank people and get into trouble.” He turns, points the ladle at Misaki in a confident gesture. “Yata, on the other hand, seems irresponsible, but you really are a caretaker.” His eyes soften, looking amused. “No one can handle Saruhiko-kun like you do.” 

Misaki groans theatrically. “He’s just trying to make my life difficult, I swear,” he says, but his tone is fond, and maybe a bit in love, now that he starts to understand what’s between him and Saruhiko. Totsuka could probably hear what’s unsaid clearly, though, which is probably why he gives Misaki a teasing grin, but that’s okay, because it’s Totsuka-san. 

The world turns out to be a bit bigger than he had wanted it to be—it’s not just him and Saruhiko, it’s King and Kusanagi and Totsuka and Anna and Kamamoto and the rest of HOMRA, filling in all the right, previously empty places in Misaki’s life, and Misaki thinks he doesn’t mind at all. 

 **\-----o0o-----**  

For a long while after that, he starts to believe Totsuka. 

He gives, and he gives his best, for HOMRA and for his friends, for King and Anna and Kusanagi and Totsuka. He gives, to Saruhiko, because even if their small world has grown, what matters is still the two of them having fun together, being happy, even with other people to trust and fight back-to-back with. He gives, lets a part of his heart go every time he does, and believes he’ll get it back and more in return, when his feelings finally reach everyone he holds dear. 

His laughs are freer, now. His grins are happier, he talks even louder, he walks with his head held up in pride. Maybe this is it, he thinks when he struts right behind his King, when he burrows under a blanket with Totsuka and Anna, when he kisses Saruhiko and tangles his fingers in Saruhiko’s hair. Maybe this is it, this happiness. Maybe it’s what he gets in return, after everything he’s given. Maybe his feelings have reached everyone, because he’s so happy now and he can’t imagine how to be even happier, not when Saruhiko’s arms close around him and pull him close, not when Mikoto-san gives him an approving nod, not when Kusanagi-san ruffles his hair. 

Then Saruhiko leaves, with horrible smiles and piercing words and a burnt HOMRA tattoo, and Misaki breaks all over again. 

He’s never been so angry ever since Moe is gone. 

 **\-----o0o-----**  

But anger is exhausting. And in the end, when everything is said and done, when he doesn’t have any energy left to curse the fucking Monkey, Misaki crawls into an empty bed and stares at the phone. 

Later, he will forever deny to himself that the night happens. Later, he will forever believe that he crawls into bed and passes out instantly, and the massive headache he wakes up with in the morning is because he hit his head on the way home. But now, he opens the mail appli Saruhiko made years ago, opens every message and rereads them even as he swallows his sobs. 

He types in, _fuck you. Fuck you very much, you dumb monkey. I fucking hate you._

_I fucking hate you. You should’ve said something, if you weren’t happy. I would’ve done something. I would’ve changed something. You wouldn’t have to leave, fuck you._

_I’ll forgive you. I’ll forgive you if you come back. If you come home. Don’t you fucking dare take everything away and leave, you bastard. Don’t betray me like this. Come back, please, I’ll forgive you. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything, our world, we’ll make it new and happy again, so please._

_Please, Saru._

_I don’t want to be alone._

_I’m scared_. 

He never hits send. 

 **\-----o0o-----**  

It takes years to mend what is broken between the two of them. 

It takes Totsuka’s death, and his King’s death, and Kamamoto and Anna’s disappearance, and HOMRA falling apart. It takes countless fights and death threats, it takes a near-death experience for the two of them. It isn’t easy, it’s never been when it comes to Saruhiko, but in the end, he’s able to pull Saruhiko into his arms and fold himself along the curve of Saruhiko’s bent back, and forgive. 

It takes even longer before one night, Misaki remembers himself saying, _I told you I’d come if you called, right_. 

“Hey,” he says into Saruhiko’s neck, fingers halting on their way to Saruhiko’s belt. “All the years we were fighting… how many times did you call me?” 

Saruhiko stares at him blankly, and Misaki wants to kick himself because Saruhiko probably doesn’t remember, what the fuck. It’s an old story, an old promise Misaki isn’t even aware that he’s trying to keep, and Saruhiko probably doesn’t get it, he’d probably answer _not once, why would I call you when I know you won’t pick up my calls_ and that’s not even what Misaki means when he says call— 

Saruhiko’s hand comes up and pushes Misaki’s face onto his chest. 

Misaki yelps. “What the fuck, dumbass—“ 

“I called,” Saruhiko says, keeping Misaki’s face pressed onto his torso so hard that Misaki actually feels his heartbeats rather than hears them. “I called for you. Endlessly. Back in HOMRA. You never came.” He feels Saruhiko swallow, listens to the way his voice turns rough. “You didn’t hear me.” 

Misaki’s face twists. He wishes he could see Saruhiko’s expression right now. “Bullshit. I was always there with you, there’s no way I wouldn’t have heard you—“ 

“You never came just for me anymore,” Saruhiko whispers, arms tightening around Misaki. “You’re leaving our world.” He pauses. “Nothing I gave you was enough anymore. You weren’t looking at me.” 

This guy, Misaki decides, is an idiot. A thorough idiot, which is why Misaki has to stay with him no matter what happens, because Saruhiko can’t take care of himself, let alone the world he’s trying to build. So he bites on Saruhiko’s collarbone, hard enough to make the taller man wince, but not enough to draw blood. 

“Dumbass,” he says quietly. “I gave you everything. I gave a lot to the others, too, but I gave you everything. Only you.” 

Saruhiko takes a breath, and Misaki feels his whole body shudder. “I called for you.” 

“Didn’t occur to you to call me louder, did it? Idiot Monkey.” He pushes against Saruhiko’s hand at the back of his head, forcing it to retreat so he can raise his head and look up. Saruhiko looks wrecked, like he isn’t sure what kind of face he should be making, and Misaki leans down to kiss his nose. “It doesn’t have to be so small, you know. Our world.” 

Saruhiko averts his eyes. “Misaki should just look at me,” he says, and it sounds like a complaint, but oddly enough Misaki finds it adorable, now. 

“I am looking at you, dumbass.” He hits Saruhiko’s head gently. “I never stopped looking at you. I just look at everyone else, too.” 

Saruhiko’s lips thin. “I don’t share.” 

“Not this part, hell no,” Misaki agrees. “This is for us. Just the two of us. And our world is bigger now, right, don’t you fucking dare tell me that yours hadn’t grown, but I think—I think that’s fine. Because this,” he taps on Saruhiko’s chest, feels the rapid beat under his fingers. “this, between us, will always be our own world. Right?” 

Saruhiko stares at Misaki for a long time. Then he says, “You’re not cute when you say smart stuff.” 

Misaki scowls. “Fuck you.” 

“Yeah,” Saruhiko shoots back, and flips the two of them over, his weight falling atop Misaki in all the right places, and Misaki has to bite back a moan. “It’s hot." 

 _You’ll get something back, Yata,_ Totsuka had told him. _It always works that way._  

Perhaps this is what he means. 

**\-----o0o-----**


End file.
